It has been a few days now: you’d think I’d be over a book I finished late into Friday night.
Em and the Big Hoom lingers…
I wonder if there may be something wrong with me. If my mind is crippled with the same disease that took Em. I imagine where you come from. The same place as Em, perhaps? Will you kill yourself?And, who do I love more Em or the Big Hoom or both? And, did I finish the book too quickly, or much too slowly and how different is my life from the 400 sq feet Bombay home? And, is life imperfect? Does that make it perfect?
And, is love steadfast, silent, all-accepting and omnipresent?
Oh yes, If the Big Hoom were to be believed. I worship him.